Not A Bad Place to Visit
by Exilo
Summary: As the world fell apart and society crumbled, bandits and survivors wandered from city to city, just trying to survive and scratch out a living, the undead hordes always at their back. One shot. OC survivors.


**_Not A Bad Place to Visit_**

The black Silverado swerved slightly, running only half-on the long stretch of highway. The zombie that had been perched on the shoulder, tearing chunks of flesh from a fat and bloated corpse, lifted its milky eyes just as the cowcatcher that was welded to the truck's front collided with its face, decimating the head. The body was pulled under the rumbling tires and chunks of gore splashed behind the rear wheels. The Silverado would leave a trail of ghastly stink for at least a mile. The passenger in the truck glared at the driver, irritated further at the slight smile on his lips. "Another one down," he chuckled.

"So, that's what? Only 3,999,999,999 to go?" the passenger asked, and leaned back a little more in her chair, curling up with herself. She was blonde, with tan skin and soft grey eyes. Not particularly pretty, but given that she was possibly the last living woman on earth, that made her quite a bit more attractive.

"You gotta start somewhere," the driver muttered, then reached up for the speaker of the CB radio mounted on the cab's ceiling. "Meathead?" he asked, and the passenger turned around in her seat, looking out the truck's rear window at the old police car that followed at the truck's tail. She watched as the policeman driver picked up his own radio and put it to his lips.

"You should stay on the road, Yankee. If you hit a pothole and crack the axle, what are you going to do then?"

The driver of the truck, Yankee, ignored the comment, instead simply asking, "Do you know if anything is coming up?"

There were a few moments of silence, before the policeman came back over the radio. "Bright Eyes says there's a city not far from here."

"What kind of city? Any chance we could get some supplies?"

The voice on the radio changed, to a voice less gruff and deep, as Bright Eyes came on the radio. "City is called Little Creek. It's a suburb of Columbo."

"You think they'll be any supplies?" Yankee asked.

"It's a crapshoot. The metropolises is where this all started, and they got hit the hardest. Once everyone started fleeing, they grabbed what they could and headed into the country. Most suburbs were kinda… kinda passed over in the haste. Either way, we should at least try it before we go into Columbo. We're running low on supplies and god knows what Columbo will be like."

Yankee took his finger off the radio's button and looked to Jinx, the passenger beside him. She gave a passive shrug of her shoulders. "We need more supplies," she said. "No two ways about it. When was the last time you ate?"

Yankee shrugged, and sighed. He wasn't a small man, not by any sense of the word. And though he tried to act gruff, his stomach had been rumbling for the past night. Pressing his finger onto the radio, he lifted it to his lips and said, "Alright, Little Creek it is."

This hadn't been the first raid that any of the party had gone through, and hopefully it wouldn't be the last. Highways tended to be somewhat barren of zombies. Occasionally there was the lone feaster at the side of the road who had somehow wandered out of the cities or towns, perhaps attracted by a stranded motorist. Much to Jinx's frustrations, Yankee insisted on weaving off course to hit them, every friggen time. But as they grew closer to city, now seeing the stretch of building against the distant horizon, Yankee ignored several of the shambling corpses and instead went along in a straight line. Jinx occupied her time with looking over her revolver, and then the compound bow she most often used, having practiced archery since she was a child. Bows were good, if you knew how to use them. Mostly quiet, and the arrows could be retrieved. She reached for the radio and brought it to her mouth, calling the car behind her.

"Bright Eyes, how are you doing for ammo?"

"Three magazines for my MP. That's sixty bullets left."

"So you'll kill, what, ten before you run out? Meathead, do me a favor. If Bright Eyes does something stupid, break his kneecap."

"Will do," said the policeman, snatching the radio out of the other's hand.

As they arrived at the suburbia, the density of the zombies greatly increased, and Yankee no longer had to swerve and slide to run any of the corpses down. The cowcatcher at the front of the truck mowed through the staggering group with such ease, it actually came that Yankee had to grip the wheel tighter and occasionally swerve, and slow the truck down slightly. The gore beneath the truck's treads was like a layer of ice on the road.

"Bright Eyes," Jinx said into the radio. "I can see the gas station in about another block. You wanna play decoy?"

Behind her, the police car's siren suddenly came to life. The car had been wired with an even more obnoxious sound than a normal police car's siren, and all the long, drawn faces of the zombies suddenly turned to flashing blue and red lights. The Silverado continued to roar and growl as it trampled the corpses, driving a few more feet, before it rolled to a stop and the engine was cut. All the gasping and growling faces looked to the police car, attracted by the noise, and turned, beginning to shuffle after it. Jinx and Yankee both reclined in their seats enough that they were not immediately seen in the windows. Indeed, several of the zombies simply lost interest and instead followed the crowd towards the wailing sirens of the police car. There were still quite a few zombies, pounding with decaying fists and clawing with broken nails, though the reinforced safety glass and the armored cage that surrounded the truck's cab would keep the two safe inside. The truck had driven through mobs without much of a problem, and Yankee had the utmost faith that they would be safe. Unfortunately, they did have to leave the truck, so bracing his shoulder against the door, Yankee pushed it open. The swinging door knocked several of the closest zombies down, though there were of course quite a few right behind those.

Yankee took a moment to reach into the cab and take the shotgun that was propped between the seats. It was an eight shot, pump action shotgun, though Yankee simply slipped it over his shoulder for now. The thunder of the shotgun's blasts would attract the horde that was now preoccupied with the police car. Instead, Yankee took the crowbar off his belt. It was "his" crowbar because of the green tape wrapped around the lower shaft to aid in the grip. With both hands, Yankee took it and braced himself, before swinging and smashing the curved back across the nearest zombie's temple. The body tensed a moment at the impact, and then went limp as it tumbled to the ground.

Yankee braced himself once more, and swung, smashing one of the closest zombies in the skull again, before grabbing the gas tanks from the truck's bed and bracing himself, and then ramming into the assembled bodies. Yankee was a big man, and could shove the weak, shambling creatures aside. He could push them aside, and bracing himself, began to shove and push himself through the mob. If there was still a god above, perhaps a small blessing was the zombie's clumsy hands. Even within their midst, one could survive as long as they stayed low, pressed forward, and kept a firm standing. It helped that Yankee was wearing a leather jacket and helmet, so the nails and decayed hands couldn't hook into him as he pushed against them, and he at last managed to reach a spot of relative safety near the gas pumps.

Beside him, one of the zombies fell to the ground, an arrow having slipped neatly through his spinal column and out the front of his throat. Jinx did not run as she moved towards Yankee. She lined each draw with the sights on her bow and released, the sharpened arrow penetrating through an eye socket or a jaw.

Yankee had to check three of the gas pumps before the fourth yielded some gas, and he held it there as the fluid slowly filled the plastic confines. Jinx lined each draw and released an arrow, and when one of the zombies came too close, she braced herself and leapt into the air, before kicking one of her rear paws out into the zombie's chest, knocking it head over heels.

"There's more coming," Jinx said a bit loud, as she drew one of the arrows farther back and lined the shot, before releasing and punching through the eye socket of a tall, rabbit zombie. Jinx smiled slightly. Not a bad shot. But all too quickly her body grew tense and she began to back up as the zombies continued to shamble closer and closer, inching closer and closer. Zombies weren't dangerous. They were slow and stupid, their bones and joints were weak and easy to break, their senses barely functioned, and they didn't have the intelligence or dexterity to close their hand quickly and take hold of a victim. Even a group of five, or ten, or twenty zombies was nothing to fear. If one stayed calm of course, didn't panic, and didn't let the zombies get a hold of them…

But there were more than twenty zombies. More than thirty. A lot had been drawn by the screaming sirens that Jinx could still hear off in the distance, but for whatever reason, several were more interested in her and Yankee. And their decaying moans attracted others. Zombies were shambling out of doorways and stores and approaching her. Some had probably given up catching the police car and instead were shambling back to where they had started.

She ducked under the grasping hands of one of the zombies, and aiming her bow up, released the wire. At the close range, the arrow passed through the zombie's jaw and skull up to the shaft's feathers, the tip and upper shaft poking out of the zombie's crown. The body slumped down to the ground, but just behind Jinx came a pair of grasping, grimy fingers. Jinx felt fingers tangle into her hair and yank, but she reached back and took hold of the hand. Twisting, she took firmer grip, and yanked the zombie towards her, before throwing it onto the ground, a chunk of her hair still clenched in its fingers.

Another zombie lifted its hands to catch her, but the curve at the end of Yankee's crowbar hooked into the zombie's skull, and he yanked it away from her. Jinx slipped her machete off the sheath on her back during those precious moments, as the zombie struggled to reach for her. Twisting, she opened a wide gash across the zombie's throat. Yankee, sensing the chance, braced himself, and yanked with his significant might. The skin that still connected the throat began to tear under gravity and the force of the pull. Black sludge dribbled out of the open gash and down the throat, soon saturating the grimy tank top that the zombie wore. Yankee twisted, and threw the creature aside, off the hook.

Jinx looked over her shoulder, and… it was suddenly as if there a thousand zombies between her and the truck. She looked to her other side, and saw that the way to the gas station's shop was far easier. "We can check for supplies in there," she shouted to Yankee, who nodded, and slipped the crowbar onto his belt. Picking up three of the ten gallon gas cans, Jinx picked up the last one and drew her revolver with her other hand. Easy headshots cleared the way to the convenience store, and Yankee had to once more drop the gas cans and use his crowbar to break open the chains that had been wrapped around the gas station's door. He held it open as Jinx slipped inside, and then slid his gas tanks in before coming in. A refrigerator unit in front of the door would keep it closed, and the shatter proof glass would keep the horde at bay for the time being.

"Jeez, Bright Eyes was right." Jinx traced a long nail over the assorted snacks and food that lined the walls of the convenience store. Of course, there were vast empty spots, but there was a surprising amount of food. It was not like in the movies, were whole stores were picked clean. Things had been tossed about on the floor, open wrappers crunched under her feet as she walked, but there was enough supplies that could hopefully last for a time. She began to fill a bag with what she could; bags of jerky, bottles of water, protein bars.

"When everything went to hell, everyone underreacted. Then when things got worse, everyone overreacted. They thought they could run away from the apocalypse with a bottle of water in their backpack and a machete in hand. Remember the highways? Why can't anyone just react to these situations?"

Jinx looked to the windows and the wide, yawning mouths of the zombies as they pressed up against them, clawing and moaning loudly. The windows were thick enough that their moans were somewhat deafened, so she could still hear Yankee. She could also hear something clawing at one of the back rooms, and was suddenly aware of her empty revolver. She opened the cylinder and emptied it, before taking six more bullets off the bandolier around her wide hips and reloaded. Yankee took the crowbar off his belt and held it as he went first, down the slight hallway and inspecting both bathrooms, until he heard slight whimpers in one of the stalls. Zombies didn't whimper, but he wasn't going to take any chances, and gestured for Jinx to take position at the front of the stall. Then, jamming the crowbar into the gap between the door and the stall's frame, he applied pressure, and the lock popped off. The door swung open, and there was a loud scream, followed by Jinx holstering her revolver and lifting her hands. "It's alright," she said quickly. "It's alright. We're not zombies. Relax."

Yankee looked into the stall to see a young woman sitting on the toilet, legs pulled up to her chest, an ice pick out in front of her as if she could ward off whatever threat had just broken into her little warren. She was small and skinny and looked grimy and filthy and the smell of unwashed flesh made Yankee a bit sick. But as far as she could tell, she was still healthy. And dressed in a cocktail dress that showed a fair amount of skin, he didn't notice any bites.

Her ice pick slowly fell, and she simply stared rather dumbly at the man and woman, and then the heavy man took a step forward. "Ma'am, what's your name?"

"This is my hiding place!" she shouted, getting to her feet. "You son of a bitch. This is my place! I stay here! Not you! Get out of here!"

A stiff punch from Yankee knocked woman back, onto the toilet and then into the wall. She hit hard, and then went still, and Yankeesighed and shook his head, before reaching for her. It was easy enough to lift her onto his shoulder, and bring her into the main convenience store. "Fucking soccer moms," Jinx could hear him mutter.

In another part of the city, the police car continued to scream down the road, sirens blaring, and Bright Eyes occasionally making creative comments over the car's megaphone, as if the zombies could understand. The car was not as much of a force as the pick-up truck, however, and Meathead had to swerve and avoid some of the densest population of zombies lest he run the risk of crashing. Still, there was quite a large mass of zombies following the police car, before it pulled to a stop under the braches of a tall oak tree in one of the city's parks.

"We've only got a few minutes. Move," Meathead said, climbing out of the car. Meathead was a giant of a man, taller than Yankee and just as wide. In another time, in another life, he had been a police officer and an amateur bodybuilder. The only hint of that past life was the baton that he habitually carried and his still impressive physique, and even that wasn't the one he carried as an officer. It was metal instead of wood, much better for bashing in skulls. He reached into the cab and took the shotgun off the rack. Lifting it to his eye, he shot a slug into the closest shambling corpse, blowing a hole clean between the creature's eyes and knocking it down, knocking the zombies that were behind it down as well. He pumped the shotgun, lifted it to his eye, and squeezed the trigger again.

Bright Eyes, meanwhile, opened the trunk of the police car and took out a very large boom box, selecting it from a neat row of them. Bright Eyes had a look that one would probably call punk. He wore a bit of leather, and his hair was in a Mohawk that Yankee constantly mocked, much to Bright Eyes' chagrin. "What do you think we should hit them with today?" Bright Eyes asked between explosions of the shotgun.

"Just put something on!" Meathead barked.

Bright Eyes snickered, and holding the boom box under one arm, used his strong fingers and cleats to climb up the tree. He didn't go far, just to the first branch that would be out of reach of groping fingers. He wedged the boom box between two stretching branches, and pressed the play button, before letting go of the tree and falling gracefully to the ground.

Meathead had emptied his shotgun, and instead of reloading it, had swung it like a club into the nearest zombie's skull. Baton now in hand, he slammed another of the zombie's to the ground and slipped the baton under the zombie's throat. With a knee in the back and both hands gripping the baton, he pulled, until a loud snap had caused the zombie to go still. Standing and swinging the baton, he smacked it across another zombie's jaw, and then hurried back to the police car. In the tree, the boom box had finally started to play, and the deep, powerful bass of the song began to thump and roar, and the zombies, stupid brutes that they were, were attracted to the noise. Meathead was just getting into the police car, when he noticed that Bright Eyes was having quite a lot of fun with his machete. He didn't look too big, compared to the bodybuilder, but lean muscle and the sharpness of the blade he took care of daily allowed him to swing and cleave through the thick skin and muscle of the zombie's neck. He cut off outstretched fingers and hands, and then finished off with a swift decapitation and let the corpse fall to the ground. Gleeful roars and growls escaped him as him as he continued to tear through them, and if they grew too numerous, he took the submachine gun off his hip and sprayed into the horde.

"Bright Eyes," Meathead shouted. "Bright Eyes, god damn it!" He growled, and took the baton off his belt. "Kai!" Bright Eyes turned suddenly, and growled at Meathead, but the policeman cocked his head towards the car, then to the approaching swarm of zombies. Some were focused on the two; others were staring up at the shouting and roaring boom box with milky white eyes. Bright Eyes growled slightly, and then headed back into the car. Meathead pulled the car away from the curb, and drove slow enough that the engine did little more than purr. Of course, some of the zombies did follow, but their stupid shamble soon put enough distance between them and the car, that they were more concerned with somehow reaching the boom box in the tree.

XXX

"What should we do with her?" Yankee asked, referring to the woman who was laying on the convenience store's counter. "I mean, I doubt she wants to leave here. We should probably just respect her wishes."

"We're taking her with us," Jinx said sternly.

Yankee turned to his best friend, sighing slightly, then looked to the glass. A large, ugly crack had appeared in the glass from the hundreds of hands that were now pounding on it. The woman must have been hiding in the bathroom, day in, day out, crawling out on her hands and knees to fetch a bottle of water or a bag of chips, but that was it. If she stayed out of sight and didn't make a noise, the zombies probably didn't even realize she was in there. "Any bright ideas?" Yankee asked.

Jinx checked that the machete was still safe in the sheath on her back, and then looked over her revolver. "Shoot the glass."

"What?"

"Shoot the glass, but give me your jacket first. I'll jump through it, and make a run for the truck. I can back it up into here. You can load the flatbed and we can go."

"Jinx, that's insane."

"Have you got any other thoughts? We don't know what Meathead is doing, when he'll be back, and that glass is not going to hold. Shoot it."

"I'll go."

"I'm smaller and faster than you are. You're too fat! Now take off your coat and shoot the glass!"

Yankee growled slightly, but sighed, and took the shotgun off his back, then his coat. It was so large on Jinx's thin shoulders, it could have covered herself and her twin, but the leather would protect her, however much. In fact, Yankee tied the loose sleeves down, and then zippered it and secured it around her waist. She tucked her hair under the baseball cap that Yankee offered.

Yankee lifted the shotgun to his eye, aiming for the window, as Jinx braced her legs and held her revolver close. Yankee squeezed the trigger, and she was dashing suddenly, leaping first onto a section of the counter, and then throwing herself against the weakened glass. The milky white eyes all watched her and the clumsy claws reached for her all at once, but they closed too slowly and instead she landed, tackling several of the zombies down. She was on her hands and knees in a moment, and took only the time to shoot the zombie she had landed on through the eye, before she was on her knees, crawling towards the truck's wheels she could just make out in the forest of legs. She stood, but squatting low, she began to shove and push and elbow her way closer to the truck.

Suddenly, she felt a grip around her middle, and a force pull her off her feet. She was lifted up by the strong grip of the creature, a dozen other hands reaching for her and helping her into the air, or scratching and clawing at her, tearing at her pants and her coat. She was dropped suddenly, and hit the ground, winding her. The zombies all lowered to their knees, clawed hands grating and pulling at her clothing, though the leather jacket and her denim pants protected her for the moment. And their clumsy grasps kept them from getting a good hold of her, and she wiggled and squirmed and kicked as best she could, but it was only a matter of time before the inevitable.

Lifting her revolver, she squeezed off five bullets, the fat .38 slugs knocking the most immediate threats off their precarious balance. She twisted, and pulled the machete off her back, and sliced it across the nearest zombie's throat. Bracing her legs it wouldn't be grabbed; she leapt and tackled another of the zombies to the ground. Lifting her knife, she placed it first on the zombie's throat, and then used her weight and both hands to push it through the throat. The head rolled back, and black sludge began to pool out of the open neck. The awful smell made her sick, but once more bracing herself, leapt with all her might, claw out stretched and aiming for the silver handle of the Silverado's door.

Her fingers wrapped around it, keeping her from hitting the ground. She leaned against the car's side, and yanked the door open with all her might, though the density of zombies pressed against it kept it from swinging open. Bracing her foot against it, and jamming her machete into the crack in the door, she pried the door just enough she managed to slip her narrow frame inside, throwing herself onto the seat and sliding into the other side of the cab. She reached into the back, picking up Yankee's emergency shotgun: a 12 gauged sawed-off. She braced it between her legs, and fired both shells, blasting the zombies that had filled the doorway away. She reached for the door and pulled it closed, and then, just to be safe, locked the doors in case one of the zombies stumbled upon how to pull the handle.

Safe, Jinx took just a moment to catch her breath. Her body was aching and her clothing smelled foul from the gore, but as far as she could tell, no teeth had punctured her tender flesh. She curled up just a bit closer inside her leather jacket, smiling, and then turned the ignition and the truck purred to life. Moving the seat up so her feet could reach the pedals, she put the truck into gear and drove it forward, smiling as she began to run the zombies down one by one, each bump making her giggle slightly. She twisted the truck as she arrived at the convenience store, and then backed the truck into the front display of the store. She climbed out, and as Yankee put the knocked out rabbit into the back seat, Jinx began to throw whatever she could into the truck's flatbed. Bags of jerky that Yankee liked, bottles of water, bags of chips, protein shakes; anything that could fill one's belly and wouldn't spoil too quick. Even candy bars would give the eater a temporary boost that could be invaluable. Yankee lifted the gas cans into the back as well, though had soon taken to firing shot after shot at the ghastly horde as they struggled to approach. At last Jinx climbed into the passenger's side through the open driver's side, and Yankee followed, pulling the door closed. He locked the door, purely out of habit, and then took the time reload his pump shotgun, and the sawed-off, which went back to its spot on the cab's cieling. Jinx cleaned her machete of gore and blood before returning it to its sheath and holding it in her lap. "I lost my bow," she muttered sadly. "And my revolver."

Yankee turned to her, and smiled slightly, and in an odd show of affection, stroked her long hair. "I'm sure Columbo has a sporting goods store." Putting the truck into drive, he pulled it out of the convenience store, and headed into the street. Picking up the radio, he brought it to his lips. "Bright Eyes? You dead yet?"

"I'm still hear, Yankee-Doodle. Have fun?"

"Got a lot of water and food. Not as much gas as I would have liked. We'll head to the outskirts, fill up the tanks, and then see about going somewhere else for another fill up before we go into Columbo. Hell, maybe come up here again. Not a bad place to visit."


End file.
